In the Bar's Bathroom
by The King's Lover
Summary: "What is it?" Dean asked as he slammed the door closed and flipped the lock. He couldn't for the life of him think of what would scare Castiel enough to make that face. Dean hadn't seen that one since… Well, since… "A woman attempted to flirt with me," Castiel said. (Destiel - m/m pairing. Jealous/Protective/Possessive!Dean. Established Relationship. Fallen!Cas. Dirty Talk.)


Dean was washing his hands when the door to the single stall bathroom burst open. "Just a minute, dude," Dean told whoever was there, mentally kicking himself that he didn't lock the door. Usually people knock.

When Dean looked up, Castiel was at the door. His trenchcoat hung off one shoulder. His tie was loose. The top button of his white dress shirt hung open. Something red darkened the edge of the collar. He stared at Dean with wide fearful eyes, which sent Dean's entire body into high alert, muscles tensing.

Dean yanked Castiel away from the door to the far corner of the small bathroom. The guy wasn't an angel anymore, though he sometimes liked to think he still was. Castiel would still do stupid things like try and protect Dean. Well, sans angel mojo, it was Dean's turn to protect Castiel.

"What is it?" Dean asked as he slammed the door closed and flipped the lock. He couldn't for the life of him think of what would scare Castiel enough to make that face. Dean hadn't seen that one since… Well, since…

"A woman attempted to flirt with me," Castiel said.

Dean let out a gruff laugh, relaxing. No demons, no ghosts, no danger – not really. Though as the knee-jerk adrenaline faded and Castiel's words started to flip around in Dean's head, he tensed again. "Wait," he said and stormed toward Castiel, crowding him into the corner behind the sink. From this close angle, the red scuff on his collar formed lip prints. Lipstick. Some woman had been that close, kissing at him, almost close enough to…

A red mark on the side of Castiel's neck was smudged from front to back.

"I want to go home," Castiel said. They were close, chest to chest, but he sounded a hundred miles away. Dean could barely hear over his thunderous heartbeat and the voice in his head that shouted, "Castiel is mine."

Castiel's hands were shaking. Dean took them in his own and kissed Castiel's knuckles. Dean felt murderous, but he didn't want Castiel to be afraid. When he finished adoring all knuckles, Dean planted tender kisses on Castiel's thin wrists before dropping his hands.

He turned to the sink and wet a section of paper towel. Then he stepped into Castiel again and began wiping the lipstick clean from his neck.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered. "I didn't – "

"I know, Cas," Dean said, stopping him, because yeah, Dean got it. He trusted Castiel implicitly, and from the way the lipstick mark smudged around half of the fallen angel's neck, Dean could guess what happened: The woman got too close. Castiel said no. She touched his skin, and he recoiled and bolted.

Castiel lined his palm against Dean's cheek.

"I know, Cas," Dean said again to reassure him. They didn't need to talk about it. Dean didn't want to talk about it. He just wanted to remove any trace of this imposer off Castiel and therefore out of their lives forever.

He scrubbed the red smudge off Castiel's neck and leaned, placing his mouth against the same bit of skin to leave a mark much more pleasant. Castiel's fingers combed through Dean's hair. The fallen angel moaned, and Dean's blood shot straight south. But with the mark made, Dean pulled away and ignored Castiel's grumbling. There were a number of things Dean wanted to do to Castiel right there, right then, but damn it, Castiel deserved better than to be rutted against in the corner of a grime-filled bar bathroom – especially when he had looked absolutely terrified until all of ten seconds ago.

"I'm going to take you home, Cas," Dean said. He pulled away long enough to see the grumpy frown on Castiel's face. It took everything Dean had not to laugh. Castiel must have been able to tell, because his frown deepened. Placating, Dean moved in and nipped at Castiel's ear, whispering, "I'm going to take you home and fuck you into next Thursday."

Castiel outright whimpered.

"I'd do it here and now – God knows I want to – because you are _mine_, damn it, and everyone should fucking know it," Dean growled. "But I can't, I won't, because you are more than that. You're everything. And I want to go slow. I want to peel those clothes off of you and kiss every square inch of your body. I want to make you scream my name. But not here – because I'm not sharing any part of you with them, even that part. They don't get to hear you. They don't get to touch you. Only _I_ do."

"Dean."

Dean sealed the promise with a kiss, closing his lips over Castiel's. Castiel gripped him, clawing at his shoulders, and Dean worried, minutely, if he was going to be able to keep that promise. Still, after a moment, he pushed away. He didn't like breaking promises. He'd break a few speed limits getting home, though.

Castiel stared at him with those large trusting eyes. His mouth hung open a little. His lips were plump and wet and inviting. Yet before Dean could tempt fate again by leaning in for another kiss, the red lip prints on Castiel's collar caught his eye and successfully repressed his libido.

Dean gathered a new damp paper towel and started on the mark, but lipstick stains. The mark wasn't coming off no matter how hard Dean scrubbed at it. "God damn it," Dean cursed. He pressed harder.

"Dean?" Castiel said, and though lust still darkened that gravelly voice, a bit of uncertainty hung there too – enough to give Dean pause.

"It's not you, Cas," Dean said and sighed. "It's that damned stain."

"It won't come out?" Castiel asked.

"No," Dean said. He stepped away from Castiel and walked to the trashcan to throw away the paper towels. When he turned back around, Castiel was unbuttoning his shirt.

Dean shot forward, his hands covering Castiel's, stopping him. "Not here, man," Dean said. He was practically the Saint of Willpower right now, but if Castiel started stripping? Yeah, that wouldn't last.

"This stain is bothersome," Castiel said. He continued to undo the buttons, even as Dean's hands sat atop his. "I'm going to dispose of this shirt."

"Here?" Dean gulped – loudly.

"Your claims are the only ones I consent to and enjoy," Castiel said. "Hers are unwelcome."

"I get that," Dean said. Castiel pulled open his shirt, and Dean very nearly squeaked when the bare skin of Castiel's chest came into view. Dean yanked the shirt closed before his libido could overload his brain. "What are you going to wear out? We'll have to walk through the bar to get to the door. And I have to pay our tab yet."

"I can button my coat," Castiel said.

That made sense. Castiel's trenchcoat would properly cover any exposed skin, but Dean knew that woman, whoever she was, would be watching Castiel like a hawk. If he came out of the bathroom missing parts of clothing, she might get the wrong idea, even if Dean was wrapped around him. Dean wasn't going to take that chance. He glanced down at his own flannel-covered chest. He'd put on two shirts plus his jacket that night.

"I have an idea," Dean said. And yeah, Dean was more than a little smug when Castiel followed him out of the bathroom wearing Dean's flannel shirt. He was plenty happy later too, when in the privacy of their room, Dean helped Castiel out of it.

* * *

4.10.13 - Thank you for reading! I'm still trying to catch up after my terrible neglect of this site. This has already been posted on tumblr and ao3, both as thekingslover. This 'At the Bar' stuff I've been posting is basically a series of unconnected jealousy fics that all occur in bar scenes... yeah haha. I haven't been posting them as chapters tho but as different fics. In hindsight... oh well. Hope you enjoyed! :)


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